Love Prevails
by Dimcairien
Summary: A story about Mary and Matthew's relationship from 2.5 onward. It follows Matthew's daily struggles with life, Mary's struggles with Carlisle, and the struggles of their relationship. This story will be semi-AU, meaning that the rough plot of the series will be followed, but there will be changes as well, some of them fairly major. Rating for theme and some language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Takes place during and after episode 2.5. This story will be semi-AU. Basically, some major parts of the series will be changed, but for the most part, the rough plot-line will stay the same. So, series 2 spoilers and as the story progresses, there will be spoilers for series 3. There will be some parts, especially in the first few chapters, where a lot of the dialogue will come directly from the show, but as it gets into my version, there will be less and less.  
**

**I've already written a good amount of this story and I do know the direction I want it to head in. Hopefully updates will be fairly accurate, but I'll be starting my second semester of college in a little over a week and I'm taking 17 units worth of classes, so basically a full load.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or the dialogue that is taken directly from the show.  
**

**Enjoy the story.  
**

Mary stood stiffly and silently in the corner of the hospital while the soldiers were brought in. Though her body may have been still, her eyes were darting all over the place. She shut her eyes in horror for a brief moment in order to try to get some of the ghastly images out of her mind, but it was to no avail. She knew they were permanently etched in her mind. She had chosen to stay here. Her discussion with Doctor Clarkson had made that evident and she needed to stay strong, for Matthew's sake.

"Mary!" she heard someone call. She quickly looked up to see Sybil at the door. "They're bringing them in," she said quietly.

Mary quickly straightened up and went to the doorway where her sister stood. "Bring him this way," Sybil said in a calm, yet firm voice.

In vain, Mary tried to not watch as cousin Matthew was brought into the hospital on a stretcher. He lay there, stiff and extremely pale. If it had not been for the ever so slight rise and fall of his chest, she would have suspected the worst. She watched as some other soldiers carried in the wounded and laid them on the beds that had been prepared for them. She may have seen the other soldiers, but she only truly saw Matthew. She hurried towards the stretcher just as Sybil and another officer were lifting Matthew onto the bed.

Once the officer had left, Mary reached down and looked at the tag that was attached to Matthew's uniform. She gasped in horror when she read the words. _Probable spinal damage. _Sybil looked at her sister and said gently, "It could mean anything. We'll know more in the morning."

Mary knew that her sister was right, but she also had a horrible feeling deep down that whatever injury Matthew had sustained on the battle field would bring many great changes to the family. Sybil began the gather up the blankets and other items that had been at the foot of Matthew's bed, when a small object fell out from among them. She reached down and picked it up. "What's this doing here?" she asked in a curious voice.

Mary reached over and took the small toy from her sister. "I gave it to him for luck," she said, trying to keep her voice steady and nearly failing.

With a sigh, Sybil said, "If only it had worked."

Mary looked at her sister and said with a hint of annoyance, "He's alive." And back in England with his family, she added silently.

Sybil nodded in response, then looked back down at their cousin. "We're going to need to wash him," she said quietly. "There's bound to be a lot of blood."

Mary looked at her sister and saw a look of determination there. "How hot should the water be?" she asked.

A flicker of surprise passed over Sybil's face as she looked up, but she quickly composed herself. "More warm than hot," she answered.

Mary nodded in answer and went to get the water, as well as the towels that Sybil had requested. When she got back, the task of cleaning began. At first, Mary could hardly believe how calm and steady Sybil's hands and arms were. After all, they were looking at an unclothed man! Mary quickly overcame those thoughts though. That part might be true, but he also was a grievously wounded man that desperately needed cleaning in order to avoid infection. Soon, they had done as much as was possible at the moment.

"Nothing more can be done until he awakes," Sybil said. She glanced down at Matthew who was still unconscious. "I pray he won't be in much pain when he awakes."

Mary nodded in agreement. "I'll be back in the morning," she said gently and with a squeeze of Matthew's hand, she left the hospital.

Early the next morning, Mary was there again, this time coming to the hospital with her father. She was sitting by Matthew's side when his eyelids fluttered open and a low groan escaped from his mouth. In a flash, Mary had moved to where he could see her without turning his head. "Matthew," she said in a tone that was barely above a whisper. "Can you hear me?"

"Mary?" Matthew said through another groan of pain.

"Yes, it's me," she responded, taking his hand into her own.

At that moment, Doctor Clarkson appeared, Lord Grantham having gone to fetch him the moment Matthew had awakened.

"Captain Crawley, I'm going to need to do an examination on you in order to determine the extent of the damage," he said. "I'm sorry I need to do this at the moment, but we need you conscious."

"Can't you wait?" asked Lord Grantham. "You can tell he's in pain."

"I wish we could wait until he's in less pain," admitted the doctor, "but, the pain will be easier to treat if we know the symptoms."

While the doctor had been talking, a nurse had put up some curtains to allow for a certain degree of privacy during the examination.

"Can I stay with him?" Mary asked breathlessly as Doctor Clarkson entered the semi-private area. He responded with a curt nod and she followed him in, her father waiting outside.

Doctor Clarkson and Mary gently turned Matthew over onto his side. "I'm going to start pressing on parts of your back and I want you to tell me if you can feel them," the Doctor said simply. While the doctor began the examination, Mary stood where Matthew could see her. He needed someone nearby that he knew. Mary was dreading the worst, she knew what it had to be, but she was praying that it wasn't what she thought.

The first few times Matthew responded positively, but as Doctor Clarkson got down to the waist, Matthew shook his head when asked if he could feel something. Mary gulped, but kept calm for Matthew's sake. He couldn't know, not yet. Doctor Clarkson moved his hands back up a few inches and pressed down, Matthew let out a low groan and nodded ever so slightly. Yet again, the Doctor moved back down to the waistline, this time in a different part, but again, Matthew didn't respond. The doctor began to work his way down Matthew's thighs, but he didn't get a single response. Mary was afraid she was going to break down. At that moment, she was extremely grateful that Matthew wasn't awake enough to be fully aware and understanding of the fact that he couldn't feel anything below his waist.

At that moment, Lord Grantham opened the curtains so Mary could see out. There stood Lavinia. Mary quickly exited the small private area, and hurried over to Lavinia.

"Do they know anything more?" she asked in a small voice. Mary could tell she was doing her best at staying calm.

"The doctor is examining him now," she said. Mary closed her eyes before she continued. "He thinks there may be problems with his legs."

Before either Lavinia or Lord Grantham had a chance to respond, Doctor Clarkson came over. "Not good news, I'm afraid," he said with regret showing in his voice. He continued, "The spinal cord has been transected, that is, permanently damaged."

For a few seconds, no one could say anything, then Lord Grantham spoke in a steady, yet shocked voice. "You mean he won't walk again?"

"If I'm right, then no, he won't," Doctor Clarkson answered. Before anyone could say anything, he continued. "I know this comes a shock to you. You must be allowed to grieve. I will say though, that he will gain his health. He will not loose his life."

Mary had finally found her voice in all of this. "Just the start of a different life."

The doctor nodded in response, then pulled Lord Grantham aside.

Mary watched the two head some distance and begin to talk privately. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. Matthew, young, strong, cousin Matthew would never walk again. Her thoughts were interrupted by Lavinia asking if she had a handkerchief. Mary rummaged in her handbag for a few brief seconds, before pulling one out and handing it to Lavinia, who took it in gratitude. Once she had dried her tears, she straightened her back and walked towards Matthew's bed. Mary was about to follow her, but was stopped by her father placing his hand on her shoulder. "Give them a moment together," he said quietly.

She turned to her father and asked what Doctor Clarkson had to say that had to be said privately, but her father told her that it wasn't anything for her to worry about, though his face seemed to say otherwise. Mary waited outside of the curtains for a time, just standing there with her thoughts. She couldn't even wrap her mind around the news she had just heard and dreaded what Matthew's thoughts would be when he found out. She knew that he hadn't been told yet, he was much too weak to know. It wasn't that long before Lavinia came out.

"He's fallen asleep," she said. "C-Can you stay with him while I go and unpack?"

"Of course," Mary answered gently. "I'll do anything to help Matthew … and you."

"Thank you," Lavinia responded and she hurried away.

Mary slowly sat down on the chair next to Matthew. There was nothing they could do. There wasn't anything anyone could do to help him, not yet anyway. How could the world, nay, how could God be so cruel, as to take away the lives and health of so many young men in such a horrific manner? A few minutes later, Sybil came by. "How is he?" she asked quietly.

Mary looked at her sister, unable to say the news. She felt that if no one said anything, they'd all wake up and it would be a bad dream. They'd be back in the garden at the party without any thought of there being war, but she knew that what was going on was reality. There was no way around it.

"Mary?" Sybil asked again. "Does Doctor Clarkson know?"

Mary swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump that had been in her throat ever since the doctor had told them. "It is spinal damage," she finally managed to croak out. "Doctor Clarkson thinks that the spinal cord has been transected."

"Oh," Sybil gasped, unable to say anything. "And there's nothing that can be done?"

Mary shook her head. "Not that he knew of anyway."

Sybil gently placed her hand on her eldest sister's shoulder. "He's here and alive," she said gently. "We mustn't forget that." Mary nodded curly and Sybil squeezed her shoulder as she hurried off to another part of the hospital, to either find the quietest corner to weep or the busiest corner to keep her mind off of things.

"Oh, Matthew, whatever we going to do," Mary sighed as she looked at the sleeping figure. Their lives, and the lives for everyone at Downton were forever changed. She didn't yet know whether they would be changed for the better or the worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: This chapter contains some language and dark thoughts coming from Matthew.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or the dialogue that is taken directly from the show.  
**

**Enjoy the story.  
**

Mary didn't know how long she sat there next to Matthew's bed, just waiting. It must have been several hours because of both the change in the shadows and the change in the nurses. She must've fallen asleep for a while because she was awoken by a groan that came from Matthew. She moved ever so slightly so that she'd be in his line of vision when he awoke. Once she saw that his eyes were opened she said in a falsely cheery voice, "Are you feeling a bit less groggy?" She couldn't let him know what had happened, not yet at any rate.

Matthew looked rather oddly at Mary. Where was he? What had happened? Then he remembered the battle and the shell, William doing something, and falling, then there was nothing but blackness. He must be in the hospital. There was something that was off though, but he couldn't quite figure it out. His entire body hurt, except for his legs. Why? "Where's Lavinia?" he finally managed to ask, wondering why that was his first question.

"She's back at Downton unpacking," Mary answered quietly. "She'll be here soon."

Matthew slowly nodded. That made sense. "And William? How is he?"

Mary froze up for a few seconds and didn't say anything. "He tried to save me," Matthew continued.

"I know," she said gently. "And we're all grateful for that." She tried to stop there, but the look on Matthew's face made her continue. "He isn't doing too good, I'm afraid. He's at a hospital in Leeds, but Granny and Edith are trying to get him transferred here."

Matthew sighed and turned his head away from her slightly, groaning slightly at the pain that appeared whenever he moved. "Any sign of, Mother?" he asked, his voice etched ever so slightly with despair. He knew she was working with the Red Cross in France, but he had hoped she'd be here. He had asked Lavinia earlier that day (was it still the same day?), but she hadn't known.

"Not yet," Mary answered, "but I'm sure she's on her way back by now."

If Mary had thought that these first few minutes had been horrible, she wasn't prepared for what Matthew said next. Throughout the time Mary had been speaking, he had been trying to figure out what might be wrong with him. Everything hurt and he knew he had been thrown against something in the blast. Everywhere hurt, except for his legs. He knew that meant something, but what? "There's something funny about my legs," he said at last, trying to figure out the best wording. "I can't seem to move them. Or feel them, now that I think about it. Did Clarkson say what it might be?"

Mary knew that she couldn't answer him. She had barely been able to say the words to Sybil, how much worse it would be to say them to the man the physically effected. With great effort, she tried to put a smile on her face. "Let's wait for Lavinia," she said.

"Tell me," Matthew commanded, though in a weak voice. If something truly was wrong, he couldn't have Lavinia there, not until he knew the full nature of the problem.

Mary began to panic slightly. What else could she say that could evade this conversation for a time? "You've not even been here for twenty-four hours," she said, "nothing will have settled down yet." Even though she knew that this was a poor reason for not telling Matthew the truth, she couldn't, not yet.

"Tell me," Matthew said again, suddenly getting very nervous. If Mary didn't want to say what it was, it surely had to be something bad. He swallowed in a fruitless effort to get rid of the lump in his throat that had suddenly arrived.

Mary sighed, knowing that no matter how much she wanted to avoid this conversation, it couldn't be avoid without her being rude. She also knew that if she got up and left to avoid telling Matthew, he'd figure out that it was something horrible. Knowing his thought process, Mary was certain that his imaginings might be worse than the truth. With a sigh, she finally said, "He says you may have damaged your spine."

Matthew stared at her in shock for a few seconds. "How long do you think it will take to repair?" he asked in vain hope. His father had been a doctor. He knew what a damaged spine meant, but he hoped it wasn't true.

Mary could tell by the look in his eyes that he was desperate for a positive answer, even though he probably already knew what the outcome would be. She couldn't tell him straight out that he'd never walk again, so she settled on the best answer she could possibly give. "You can't expect there to be timings on this sort of thing."

"But he did say I'll get better," Matthew stated, though he looked to be uncertain. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he immediately regretted saying them. What Mary had told him had to be true, there wasn't a way around it, yet he still hoped there was.

"He says first task is for you to regain your health," Mary stated. "And that's what we have to concentrate on."

Once again, Matthew turned his head away from her, the truth that he knew, yet wanted to avoid, finally setting in.

The tone of his next words cut through Mary's heart like ice. "I see," was all Matthew said, but the tone was one of deep despair and there was no hope whatsoever in it and that was true. His life as he knew it was over, forever.

She continued with the only positive statement she had left. "He says that there's no reason why you should not have a perfectly full and normal life."

"Just not a very mobile one," Matthew finished, trying to find something that he could say. It was amazing how quickly life could permanently change. He began to breath heavily, but was struggling not to cry. He couldn't let Mary, he couldn't let anyone, see him in that state.

Mary understood what Matthew was trying to do and she knew she had to let him have some time alone to come to terms, if he could do so, with his grief. She quickly stood up and asked, "Would you like some tea? I would." With that, she left his bedside, leaving Matthew staring dejectedly at the ceiling.

Before she had gone more than a few paces, Matthew added in a husky voice, "Thank you for telling me. I know I'm blubbing, but I mean it. Thank you." If he had had a choice of who would break this news to him, he would have chosen Mary. There weren't any others he could stand hearing such dreadful news from.

Mary smiled gently at her cousin. "Blub all you like," she said. "And when Lavinia's here you can make plans." As Mary walked away, she felt the tears that she had been forcing back come out. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and sped her pace up.

As Matthew watched her leave, he felt his spirits begin to sink and then the tears began to flow. The truth had hit him like a rock and he wasn't strong enough to hold on tight as the wave of grief spread over him. His life as he knew it was over. He had always known he'd be different when he came back from the war, but not this way. What Mary had told him couldn't be true, yet he knew it had to be. There was no other possibility. He didn't know why he was in denial of his injury when he knew that it happened, but he just was. Perhaps if he denied it enough, he'd wake up and this hell on earth would be over.

He wiped away the tears that were trickling down his cheeks, but the moment he wiped them away, new ones formed. Matthew was thankful that it was dark in the room for he didn't want anyone, much less a fellow soldier, to see him in his current state. Matthew didn't know how long he wept for. He had no account of time the world was a dark, dismal, place. What need was there of anything?

"Matthew?" someone asked sometime later. The tears had stopped long since stopped flowing, but he was still weeping inwardly.

"Matthew," the same person said again, "It's Sybil."

"Sybil," Matthew murmured, "please tell me it's not true." Again, why, was he asking? He knew the answer. He knew the dreaded truth.

Sybil sat down on the chair next to the bed. "I'm sorry, Matthew, but it is true," she said sadly. She picked up a handkerchief that lay on the bedside table and gently dabbed away Matthew's tears.

"Thank you for that," Matthew said in a barely audible tone. He was helpless. He couldn't wipe his own face. How could he live if he was destined to a life of being cared for? "Can anything be done?"

Sybil let out a long sigh. "No," she answered simply. "Not yet anyway. You're much to weak at the moment."

"Can anything ever be done?" Matthew asked, desperate for some type of positive answer. Surely there had to be something, but deep down he knew that there probably wasn't anything.

Sybil hesitated for a few seconds, took his hand in her own, and answered slowly, as if she was carefully choosing her words. "I won't say nothing can ever be done. There has been progress in the field of paralysis, but there is much that we still do not know about it."

Paralysis, that dreaded word, Matthew thought. That dreaded, damnable word. Matthew dug the fingers of his hand that wasn't in Sybil's grasp into his thigh, desperately hoping to feel something, anything, that could mean a different outcome, but it was to no avail. Why had he lived if he wasn't to properly get his life back? It was better to not be alive than to have a half-life. "I wish I were dead," he mumbled under his breath. Suddenly he heard a gasp. Dammit, Sybil was still next to him. She had heard.

"Matthew, don't," Sybil said quietly. "Don't wish that. You're here, you're alive, and you will have a life."

"A life," Matthew said in a steely tone. "A crippled life. A useless, worthless, crippled, half-life." He didn't care what he was saying and he didn't care who heard it. "Why should I have a life if I can't have a proper one?"

"Matthew-" began Sybil, but Matthew cut her off.

"I can't have a life! Yes, I'm here, but not with a life! Not a proper one. I'm half of a person, half of a man!"

"Matthew," Sybil said in a commanding voice. Matthew stopped his rant, genuinely frightened of his cousin's voice. "Stop that, stop it now. You're here and right now that is what matters." Matthew tried to open his mouth and tell her how wrong she was, but Sybil continued without giving him a chance to speak. "And don't let me catch you saying any of those things again. You are anything but half a person." She reached over and touched his chest right above his heart. "This is what makes you a person," she said gently. "Your heart, your soul, that is what makes you a person, not your physical body. It's who we are on the inside that makes us who we are. Don't forget that."

"B-but," Matthew started to protest.

"Shh," Sybil said, gently cutting him off. "Now, I'm going to give you something to help you sleep. You'll feel better later."

Matthew had no choice but to take the offered drink as Sybil gently spooned it into his mouth. The last thought he recalled as he drifted off was whether Sybil was right. Was it only the inside that mattered?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I would recommend having tissues nearby whilst reading this chapter.  
**

**This chapter deals with the conversation Doctor Clarkson had with Robert on how Matthew would be unable to bear children. I did my best to stay as vague as possible when talking about the precise implications as I get rather uncomfortable when reading that stuff. It's minor, but I thought I mention it just so no one is overly surprised.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or the dialogue that is taken directly from the show.  
**

**Enjoy the story.  
**

When Matthew awoke the next morning, two things went through his mind within seconds of each other. The first was wondering where he was, and the second was remembering he was a cripple in a hospital bed. He vaguely remembered what Sybil had told him last night, that it was the heart and soul that made the person, not the body. Did he believe that? All his life, he had known that one's personality was important, but a lot of who one was came from the physical presence as well. All the great men had been men of good character, in both soul and body. There was no way one could be anything without both, right?

It felt so strange just to lie there, perfectly still, not able to do anything. Was this be what his life was like for the rest of it? He couldn't stand it if it were so. Why was he still alive if he was doomed to such a life? This time though, for some strange reason, he didn't wish himself dead. He didn't know why, but figured that it probably had something to do with his conversation with Sybil. "I'll never get used to this," he muttered under his breath. He thought that he could almost feel his legs, but when he dug his hand into his thigh, there was nothing, nothing at all, and there wouldn't ever by anything again. "Don't you cry again," he mentally told himself. "Get a hold of yourself, Captain Crawley. Believe it." Could he though? Could he ever believe what had happened? Could he ever come to terms with it? How would it be possible even if he could? "God, why?" he murmured. "Why did you do this to me? Why?"

He stared straight up at the ceiling, trying to find something up there that could distract him from his thoughts, but it was to no avail. There weren't even cracks to count. So he just lay there, trying not to think, but finding it completely impossible.

A short while later, Doctor Clarkson came to his bedside. "Good, you're awake," the doctor said kindly. "Nurse Crawley said she gave you a sleeping draught last night."

"She did," Matthew answered. He didn't know how long he had slept, probably eight or so hours, but they had been a period of bliss. There hadn't been any pain and he hadn't been injured. He had tried to force himself to stay asleep when he had realized he was beginning to wake, but he was back in this world, in this world of pain and paralysis, the world he hadn't yet accepted, the world he probably would never be able to accept. He was grateful that the doctor had stopped by, if only to distract him for a few moments.

Doctor Clarkson sat down on the chair next to the bed. "Captain Crawley," he began, then stopped. "There's something I have to tell you that I wish I didn't have to, and I know you're not going to like it." He paused, and licked his lips. "I'm so sorry …"

"That I'll never walk again," Matthew finished, wincing as the words left his mouth. He had thought them and heard them many times yesterday and this morning, but this was the first time he had said it. It was almost a relief to say them though. It made it more real, but at the same time, easier to accept. Why? How did saying something help more than thinking it? He knew it had been true when he first heard it, when he had s-, when he had tried to say it without the precise words. Why did the precise words make such a difference? He had no time to contemplate this question as the doctor began to speak again.

"How … who told you?" Clarkson asked hurriedly.

"Mary," Matthew answered quickly, almost too quickly. "Yesterday afternoon. I told her to tell me what was wrong." Goodness, he was grateful she had told him. If that news had hit him this morning …, he didn't know what to think and didn't want to try to figure out what the answer to that thought might have been.

"Good, good," Clarkson said, somewhat relieved, but still very nervous. "There's something else though that I need to tell you."

Matthew looked up at the doctor as worry filled his mind. What else could there be that the doctor needed to tell him? He already knew what his injury was, what it meant for him and for his life, even though he was still denial, despite his knowledge of the truth. There couldn't be anything else, could there? Or, was this new information some information of hope? Was their some possibility that he could regain partial motion? Hell, he'd even take being stuck in a wheelchair is he could just feel something in his legs.

"I don't need to go into detail with this," Doctor Clarkson began, "but considering who your parents are, I'm certain you understand how reproduction works."

Matthew nodded as his spirits fell. He was rather confused as to where this was going and he knew it didn't have anything to do with possible recovery. He was paralyzed. That shouldn't cause any problems with that other area other than the fact that he, well, wouldn't know what was going on down there.

"Good," Clarkson said, slightly relieved. "What you probably don't know is that the sexual reflexes are controlled in the same place that the motor control of the legs comes from."

Matthew stared at the doctor in disbelief. This couldn't be happening to him, it simply couldn't! "No," he murmured in a mixture of horror and disbelief as realization struck its dreadful blow again. "No."

Doctor Clarkson placed his hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he said gently. "Truly I am." With that, Clarkson left to go to yet another part of the hospital, leaving Matthew alone with his thoughts.

Why? Why did it have to be like that? He could've lived knowing he'd never walk again, knowing he wouldn't feel the sensation of making love, but as long as it was possible, as long as there could be children. Now though, that ability was not to be. He would never be a father; he couldn't be one. It was as simple as that; it was now an impossibility. In some ways, this new information from Doctor Clarkson was worse than hearing what his external injury was. This new injury, this internal injury, was many times worse because it didn't just affect him, but almost everyone he knew. Lavinia, there could never be children for her to bear for him, and Cousin Robert, there could never be an heir after him. They'd have to desperately search again. Well, perhaps he simply shouldn't be Earl of Grantham then, if he couldn't provide the next heir. Yes, life wasn't all about having children, the world would be an interesting place if that was one of the sole purposes of life, but it was still an important part. He longed to be a true husband to Lavinia, and had even hoped that he still could have been one, even with his injury, but with this new piece of information, he knew that he couldn't hold on to her, not for his sake and most certainly not for hers. How could life, how could God, be so cruel as to take away so many of the thing he loved about life, brisk walks, a bicycle trip, the wish to be a true lover, the wish to be a true father, in one fell blow?

He didn't have very long to contemplate this question, much to his relief, because Lavinia soon arrived. As soon as he had fully realized what he had to do though, he immediately grew angry and wished she would just leave, but that was not to be the case.

"You're awake," she said cheerfully as she ignored is sullen look. "I'm glad." She paused for a moment and continued in a slightly more serious tone, "How are you doing."

"As well as can be expected," he muttered, wondering why on earth she'd ask such a question. How well could someone be doing when their life had done a complete turn-around in forty-eight hours? Hell, he didn't know how he was doing!

Lavinia looked into his eyes and said sadly, "So Doctor Clarkson told you?"

Matthew shook his head. "Mary did," he answered. "Yesterday, while you were unpacking. I asked her to."

Lavinia nodded slowly in response.

Matthew looked up into his fiancé's eyes. Even though he was still in pain and morphine was still in his system, he could see the deep love that was in them. It was that look that made it all the harder for him to tell her what he had to.

"Lavinia, there's something I have to tell you," Matthew said slowly as he struggled both to find the words and to keep calm. He had hardly known about this information for a quarter of an hour, and that wasn't enough time to grasp it, but he needed to tell Lavinia before he lost his courage. "About … about our relationship."

"Can't it wait?" Lavinia asked. "Please, don't worry yourself about it. We can wait until you're strong enough."

"No," Matthew said as firmly as he could, which wasn't very firm at all. With great effort, he managed to keep his voice from cracking as he continued, "It can't, it mustn't wait."

"Matthew, I," began Lavinia but was interrupted by Matthew saying, "Please, let me finish." He took a deep breath to steady himself, then proceeded with the words he knew he had to say, yet didn't want to because he knew they would break her heart, and his. "Lavinia, I-I love you, but you shouldn't love me anymore, because … because of how I am now."

"I don't care if you can't walk," Lavinia said softly. "You must think me very feeble if you think that would make a difference."

"I know. It wouldn't," Matthew began as a tear trickled down his cheek. He moved his hand, despite wincing slightly at the pain the motion caused, to wipe it away. "And I love you so much for saying it. There's something else, something which may not have occurred to you." He stopped for a few moments, trying to figure out exactly how to word his next statement. After a few seconds of silence, he continued in a husky voice, "We can never be properly married."

"What?" asked Lavinia in disbelief. "Of course we can be married."

"Not properly," Matthew repeated, hoping she'd understand what he was trying to tell her. He couldn't tell her directly. It would be too painful for the both of them. He couldn't stand to tell her as bluntly as Clarkson had told him. He was grateful that the doctor had been blunt with him, even though he hated him for it too, but it was impossible for him to be blunt about he same subject with the person who'd feel its greatest affects. Not that this news wasn't horrible for him as well. No, now he knew that this news was far worse than what he had been told the previous day. He knew that he'd be able to accept that life, someday, far down the road; but this life, this life of never loving in the way he had dreamed of loving his fiancé, was gone forever, and he would never be able to accept it.

"Oh," Lavinia said after a long pause, as realization dawned on her. "I see."

"That's why I have to let you go," Matthew said as he struggled to keep his voice steady. He couldn't break down, not now, not while he was telling this to Lavinia. He knew it had already happened a few minutes previously, but it couldn't happen again.

"But … that side of things, it's not important to me, I promise," Lavinia said desperately.

Matthew knew what she was trying to do, and he loved her for it, but he couldn't let her. He couldn't let her throw her life away to simply be with him as he was. He was a cripple, no matter what Sybil said; physically, medically speaking, he was a cripple. "My darling, it's not important now, but it will be. And it should be," Matthew said as he desperately struggled to keep calm, but the tears, so long forced back, finally made their appearance. He had to continue though; he couldn't stop, not now. He blinked hard a few times as he tried to clear his vision and at last, he managed to continue in a broken voice. "I couldn't possibly be responsible for stealing away the life you ought to have." Even though he didn't have a life, he couldn't take away the life of the one he loved. It was selfish of him. No matter what anyone thought, Lavinia, Mary, himself, he couldn't allow anyone to be tied to him. Even though he didn't want to, even though something was telling him he shouldn't, he knew Lavinia had to leave if she was to have a proper life.

"I won't leave you," said a determined Lavinia as she leaned forward to take his hand. "I know you think I'm weak and that I don't know what I'm taking on."

"How could you for God's sake?" Matthew interrupted, once again trying in vain to keep the tears at bay. They merely trickled, out, but they were coming. He wouldn't be able to keep the flood back for much longer. God, why, why? Why did he have to go through this new hell? No one could understand what was going on, no one! He didn't even understand what was going on or why. Why couldn't she just listen? He couldn't repeat himself, not now or ever.

"I'm not saying it will be easy for either of us," Lavinia continued, her statement jarred Matthew back into reality. "But just because something isn't easy, doesn't mean it isn't right."

"I won't fight with you," Matthew responded flatly. "But I won't steal away your life. Go home. Think of me as dead. Remember me as I was. You cannot stay. I cannot keep you in a life that would force you to be childless. Think of me as the strong, handsome soldier you laid eyes on in London, not the weak, pitiful, invalid I've become." There, he had said it. Dammit, why had he said that? It wasn't tr… no, no matter what Sybil said, it was true. She couldn't possibly believe that the body didn't have to do with who the man was. She was a nurse for heaven's sake!

"Matthew, don't!" Lavinia protested.

"Just go!" Matthew commanded harshly. "Leave me, and have the life you deserve to have."

He turned his gaze away from her, not wanting to see her face. He knew he had hurt her, but this was for the best. He would hurt her more if they stayed together. She would end up hating him. This way, they were at least parting as friends, at least, he thought so and hoped so.

He heard her get up from the chair and move away, but he didn't turn his head to follow her. Once he was certain she was gone from him, he allowed the full flood of tears he had been struggling to hold back ever since Clarkson had told him the news, to fall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or the dialogue that is taken directly from the show.  
**

Later that evening after having travelled up to London to talk to Sir Richard about prohibiting Mrs Bates from publishing the story of her scandal, and thankfully her efforts were successful, Mary was walking towards her room when she heard a cry from the room Lavinia was staying in. She knocked gently on the door, and then entered.

"Lavinia?" she asked gently. "What's wrong?"

"Matthew's told me to go home," Lavinia said in an unsteady voice. "He says he won't see me again. He feels as if he has to 'set me free' as he put it. I tried to tell him I don't care, but he wouldn't listen."

Mary had been listening to Lavinia in shock and surprise and by the time she had finished, Mary couldn't stand by the door any longer, so she entered the room and went and sat down on the bed next to Lavinia. "Then you must keep telling him," she stated.

Lavinia looked up at Mary and she knew that there was something more, something besides Matthew not walking as she knew Lavinia wouldn't leave Matthew for a reason as simple as that. She had no idea what it could be, but judging from Lavinia's reaction, it had to be something important.

"Yes, but you see, it isn't just the walking," Lavinia explained. "Today he told me we can never be lovers because that's gone as well. I didn't realize. It's probably obvious to anyone with half a brain."

Mary looked at Lavinia in shock. She couldn't believe what she had just been told. Poor Matthew, how it must have been horrible to hear that and he had had to hear it alone. That had to have been what Doctor Clarkson had pulled her father aside to say. No wonder he had looked so shocked. "No," she murmured for lack of anything else to say. As she sat down on the bed net to Lavinia she added, "Nor did I." She honestly hadn't realized the full implications of Matthew's injury. She was grateful she hadn't known about them yesterday, because otherwise she probably would have been the bearer of that news as well. Tearing down one part of his life had been horrible enough, but she would have been unable to tear down a second. And, as Granny said, sometimes it was best to let the blow fall in pieces.

"And he feels it would be a crime to tie me down," Lavinia continued as she tried to wipe away the unrelenting tears. "He thinks I'd hate him in the end because we can't have children. I'm sorry if I shocked you, but there's no one else I can talk to about it and when you came in…"

"I'm not shocked," Mary interrupted, "I'm just stunned. And desperately sad." And that was true. She was stunned and sad, both for Lavinia and for herself. Now neither of them would get Matthew, who happened to be the man of their dreams for them both.

Lavinia lifted her tear-stained face and looked right at Mary. "I'll die if I can't be with him."

Mary looked at the girl she had once thought she'd hate because she had taken Matthew away from her, but one look at Lavonia's face and she knew that she truly loved Matthew. "Lavinia, I'll do my best to see if I can make Matthew see sense." And I'll try to convince him that he should keep you, she silently added, though a small part of her wanted him to take her back instead, but she knew that would never happen.

"Thank you," Lavinia answered in a small voice. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't," Mary assured. "You can't. You're a sweet lady, a better one than I, and I know that you'll take good care of Matthew, if he should take you back."

"Do you think he will?"

"I don't know," Mary answered. At one point, she probably would have answered surely, but now she was no longer certain of how Matthew thought. War changed everyone, that much she knew, but she didn't know how much it changed people. "I'm sure it was just … just some way of trying to … trying to cope."

"I hope so," Lavinia said. "I need him and, and he needs me."

* * *

After Lavinia left and after all of his tears were gone, Matthew didn't know what to do, well, what to think about, as that was the only thing he could do. Oh, God, how he wished his mother was here … and his father. That thought suddenly jolted him. His father! He hadn't thought about, no, hadn't wished his father's presence in a long time. It had been nearly ten years since he had died. In this world of bustling doctors and nurses, for the first time in several years, Matthew needed his father. True, his father wouldn't understand precisely what he was going through, but his father had been a doctor, and it was because of that fact that Matthew knew he needed him. "Father," he murmured under his breath. "Why? Why can't you be here? Why'd you have to die?" He hadn't asked that question in so long, in fact, Matthew was wondering if he had ever even asked that specific question. Here and now, there wasn't anything anyone could do; there wasn't anyone who could comfort him, but Matthew knew that the one physical person who could do it properly was his father. There wasn't anyone else who knew him, had known him, like his father. Far into the night, until he drifted off to sleep, Matthew dug through his memory trying to remember anything and everything that had to do with his father. It brought a strange sort of comfort to him, almost as if his father was there with him. He knew he wasn't there, but a small part of him hoped that at least his father knew what had happened; he hoped that his father was there with him in spirit.

* * *

The next day, Mary went to the hospital to try and talk some sense into Matthew, but a few lines into their conversation, she knew she had been beaten, but she still hoped that Matthew would see sense.

"Matthew, why did you send Lavinia away?" Mary asked, hoping that bluntness might help her get a direct answer out of him.

"You know why," Matthew answered her as he kept his eyes shut. He couldn't let her see the hurt that was in them or the pain. It was ironic really, he couldn't feel half his body, but the part that he could feel was always in pain. He knew that meant healing, but oh how he wished the pain would just leave. He knew that wasn't to be though. The pain in his body would eventually leave, and it was diminished by the morphine, but the pain in his heart would always be there and there was nothing that could dull it. It would never fully heal and he wondered if it would ever even begin to heal.

"No, I don't know why," Mary gently replied, even though she did because Lavinia had told her. She needed to hear the words come from Matthew though, in order to truly believe that he had said them as they didn't seem like something the Matthew she knew, or thought she knew, would say.

"She's better off in London," Matthew stated, though he hated himself for saying those words. Yes, Lavinia was better off in London, but was it better off for her or for him? He knew how hurt she had been, but he had convinced himself that it was for her own good. But was it that way, truly? Well, what difference did it make? She would have eventually decided to leave on her own after seeing what all would have been required of her to do for him, and the fact that there was next to nothing he could do for her. No matter who it was for, it had been better that he had sent her away.

"If you say so," Mary sighed, at last admitting defeat. She wished that Matthew could understand that in some cases love triumphed over everything else people saw in a marriage.

"Do you know why I sent her away?" he asked. He hoped that she did, that way he wouldn't have to explain himself again. He knew he wouldn't stand being able to do it, let alone with Mary.

"I think so," Mary answered slowly.

"Then you'll know I couldn't marry her. Not now. I couldn't marry any woman." Not even you, he added silently. He desperately wished that he could still get married or better still, be married. Why, Mary, why did you refuse me four years ago? If only she had accepted him, then there wouldn't be this situation. He had turned to Lavinia partly out of desperation, it was a war-time romance, and partly out of spite. He wanted to prove to Mary that he could move on. Perhaps he had done a bit too good of a job there. He thought he had loved Lavinia, and he did, but not in the proper kind of love for marriage. He still wondered if Mary loved him and if he loved her, but he knew the latter part to be true. However, he quickly dismissed those thoughts from his mind. It no longer mattered who he loved, or who loved him, as there was no possible way he would tie anyone down to be with him for the rest of his life. And why was he thinking about Mary? He might still love her, but it was obvious she had moved on, just as he had tried to move on. He shouldn't even be thinking like that. Even if Mary was free, he still couldn't take her right after sending Lavinia away.

Matthew turned and looked straight into Mary's eyes as he said the last sentence and then he mentally scolded himself for doing such an action. Mary held back a gasp as she wondered if Matthew still loved her. She still loved him; that was true and was beginning to regret refusing his proposals, but she couldn't have accepted him, not without telling him of her infidelity. Well, it was too late now, on both their accounts. The announcement of her engagement to Sir Richard had been announced in the papers that very morning, and as Matthew had so eloquently put it, he couldn't marry any woman, but that was only what he believed. She thought differently and yes, so did Lavinia. She was determined not to give up, but she was now beginning to doubt whether or not Matthew ever could come to his senses in this regard.

"And if they should just want to be with you? On any terms?" she asked, knowing that's what Lavinia had said, but the same was true for her. There as a small part of her heart that hoped Matthew would relent, but she knew how stubborn Matthew was.

"No one sane would want to be with me as I am now," Matthew replied dejectedly as he tried to keep his voice steady. "Including me." But then, I'm not sane, he added mentally. No one withstood the horrors of war without loosing some part of his sanity. Despite everything that had been going on, ever since that first night, he hadn't had a single thought of gaining freedom by choosing death. He never could make that choice. It would hurt too many people. Merely the thought of what so many young soldiers in similar predicaments did, made Matthew feel ill. It took a few seconds for him to realize that he truly was about to be sick.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he moaned. In a flash, Mary, who had been thinking about the young blinded soldier who had taken his life and hoping that Matthew wasn't contemplating the same action, had grabbed the nearby basin and helped him lean over the side of the bed. She continued to wonder what was going on in his mind as she said while rubbing his back, "It's all right. It's going to be all right." She was certain it couldn't be what it sounded like at the surface level: he still had a life, a loving mother, a home to come home to, and a family.

As she was cleaning his face, Matthew began to laugh in a rather sarcastic tone. "What is it?" she asked, wondering what could cause this reaction.

"It seems just a short time since I turned you down," he said, remembering when Mary had asked if he would have stayed at Downton if she had accepted him. He knew he wouldn't have stayed, as he still would have had to do his duty towards his country. "Now look at me, an impotent cripple stinking of sick. What a reversal. I wonder what it's all for."

"All that matters is that you're here," Mary assured, not wanting to berate Matthew for his choice of words at the moment. She too knew of the incident he was referring to. She had lost rack of how many times she wished she had accepted him when he had given her the chance. He would soon realize there was much more to him than simply the fact he couldn't use his legs. She, like everyone else at Downton was simply thankful that Matthew was back alive, even if he was permanently injured. "And you survived the war. That's enough for now."

"Mary," Matthew murmured, relishing the feeling of her touch. That wasn't right, he should have enjoyed Lavinia's touch more, but he couldn't. Not now, when he had finally realized that it was still Mary he loved, though it was much too late to realize that. He couldn't marry anyone ever. He had to realize that, and he had to accept the fact that Mary was now engaged to someone else.

"Yes?"

"I-I want you to know that, that as much … as much as I hate it, I… I wouldn't end it," he stuttered. He had seen the look of sheer horror in her eyes and knew that it had been his sudden bought of sickness that had saved him from hearing the same lecture from Mary that he had heard form Sybil on his first night in the hospital. He still hated his existence, but he wouldn't finish it off, more so for the sake of his mother than for himself.

"Thank you, Matthew," Mary replied quietly, though extremely relieved. She hadn't thought that Matthew would do something so drastic, but she was thankful to know that he wouldn't. "I should let you get some rest," she said as she stood up. "You're starting to look tired."

Matthew wouldn't admit it, but he was starting to feel a bit sleepy. He knew it had to do with the fact his body was using all its energy towards cleaning. After all, he wasn't doing anything that would normally tire himself.

She got up to leave and as she was exiting the room, she saw Isobel. "You're back," she exclaimed quietly, but in delight "He'll be so pleased."

"You've become quite a nurse since I last saw you," Isobel said.

It's nothing," Mary responded, knowing that to Isobel, her sacrifice meant a great deal. It had been a hard couple of days for Matthew, Lavinia, her family, and for herself, but she knew they would have been even harder if she hadn't turned into Matthew's nurse. Now, with his mother's return, she was certain the worst had to be over. At any rate, she knew Matthew would improve simply with the presence of his mother.

As she walked off, she heard Isobel say quietly, "It's the very opposite of nothing."

Matthew watched Mary walk off, but before the sound of her footsteps had completely disappeared, someone else appeared in his line of vision. He stared at her for a few brief seconds before gasping, "Mother." He couldn't believe that she was here, but she was, right? He hadn't already fallen asleep, had he? He moved his hand to pinch his thigh, but stopped, knowing that wouldn't do anything. He'd simply have to hope that this was real.

"I'm here, Matthew, I'm here," Isobel said as she quickly sat down next to her son and took his hand. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Mother," Matthew repeated again. He was on the verge of tears, but this time they weren't tears of mourning or of pain, but tears of relief. He never thought he would be so glad to see her, or so relieved to be able to say that word. He looked up into his mother's eyes and saw that they were filled with love and relief, not pity, and for that he was extremely grateful. His last thought as he drifted off was how calming the presence of his mother was.

**A/N I've just realized that this is the second chapter that ends with Matthew falling asleep. Hopefully this won't happen very many more times, but this seemed like the best place to end it. Oh, and we're finished with episode 2.5.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N This chapter takes place between episodes 2.5 and 2.6. I figured that there had to be at least several weeks, if not a month, between the two. Also, I'm starting to near the end of the complete pre-written chapters. Hopefully I can get some more finished quickly so I can stay ahead in writing this story.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or the dialogue that is taken directly from the show.  
**

Gradually the days turned into weeks. Matthew grew steadily stronger, though there was no sign of improvement when it came to everything below his waist, but that was to be expected. For everyone at Downton, these weeks were among the bleakest they had ever known. First, there was Captain Crawley who had been so terribly injured and would never full recover, and then there was young William who had been taken away from them far too early.

One day, about two weeks after Matthew had sent Lavinia away, Mary was siting by his bed. Matthew's most recent accomplishment was being able to sit up, albeit propped up by more pillows than either he or Mary cared to count, and it took two people to get him upright. However, Doctor Clarkson had told Matthew that soon he'd be able to get into a seated position on his own. He just needed to have enough strength in his arms.

"Doctor Clarkson has just told me that if you keep improving at your current rate, you'll be able to try a wheelchair in a week or so," Mary said gently.

Matthew only acknowledged her with a low mumble. He knew that the wheelchair meant a sense of freedom, but it would also be a prison: another reminder of the man he used to be, but no longer was.

"And that means soon you can come home to Downton," she added with a smile.

"Will it ever be my home?" Matthew suddenly asked. Mary opened her mouth to retort, but Matthew raised a hand to silence her. "Yes, I know I'm the heir, but what good is an heir who cannot move about the property on his own? And even if I did become the earl, who would be the next one? I can never father an heir."

"Matthew," Mary said gently. "You'll always have a home at Downton as long as Papa is alive. And don't you question your ability to be the heir. You've still got brains." She was deliberately ignoring she second part of Matthew's worry for no other reason than the fact that it would be quite some time before anyone would have to worry about it.

"Brains," Matthew mused. "Brains, but no body to put them to work with." He had thought that as the days progressed, it would have gotten easier to come to terms with everything and to believe Sybil. Now though, he wasn't so sure. He was still half-expecting to wake up and for this whole experience to be a nightmare.

Mary sighed, knowing that reasoning with her cousin was going to be difficult. "Matthew," she said as she held his hand. "You've still got both your arms and hands. There are so many things you can do with them. In fact, you should see the amount of time Papa spends at his desk rifling through papers and doing heaven knows what."

"There's more to being an earl than papers," retorted Matthew. "There's a presence. A presence your father has and I don't because for the rest of my life I'll be confined to either a bed or a wheelchair. What good is an earl of that nature?"

"Matthew," Mary began again, but once again he cut her off.

"Don't 'Matthew' me," he said curtly as he jerked his hand away. Then stopped when he saw the look on her face. "It's just … I can't … I don't know how to live anymore! I-I'm not even sure if I want to live!" Dammit, he had said that again. He never wanted to say it, especially as it wasn't true, but it just kept coming out. He hoped Mary remembered that he had told her he would never end it, but wasn't so sure when he looked into her eyes.

She was eying him very sternly. Mary quickly got up from the chair and sat down on the bed. She took the hand nearest her and held it tightly so as not to let him jerk it away again. "Don't ever say something like that again," she commanded. "I know you don't mean it, but never say that again."

Matthew looked slightly frightened and suddenly he felt very ashamed. He knew that he shouldn't have said what he did, and he didn't want to say it, but what did she know? She hadn't had her life taken away like he had had. What good was he? He was a worthless cripple. For goodness sake, he was only twenty-eight years old! He supposedly had a good fifty years left in him and he did not want to spend them stuck in a wheelchair! He knew Mary was right when she said he had a life. Yes, he was alive thanks to young William Mason, but was this existence a life? He looked around at the other soldiers in the hospital. Some of them were nearly better. They'd go back to almost normal lives. Others, those with severe burns or missing limbs would never be able to recover. They'd never be able to go back to their lives, not their normal ones. Well, he was among those who could go back to their lives. But at the same time, it wouldn't be his life anymore. What could a cripple do for a life? Mary was right that Downton would always be there for him as long as Cousin Robert was alive, but what about when he was gone? There was no chance of him being a proper earl, so why be an earl at all?

"Matthew?" Mary asked gently. "You're thousands of miles away. Come back."

"Sorry," he apologized. "And I'll try not to say that again. I-I don't want to say it. I don't mean it, but it just comes out. It's just … I'm so confused. I don't know who I am anymore. Am I Captain Crawley the soldier? Matthew Crawley the lawyer? Heir to the Earl of Grantham? … Who am I, Mary?"

"You're Cousin Matthew," Mary replied gently, not letting any of her shock from his ramble show in her expression. "You might be all those other things as well, but first and foremost, you're family."

* * *

About a week later, Doctor Clarkson pronounced Matthew strong enough to try spending a few hours a day in the wheelchair. Sybil brought the chair close to the bed and she, along with Clarkson and his mother, carefully lifted Matthew out of his bed and into the chair. Matthew tried to keep from thinking about what was going on, but he couldn't. Here was more proof that he was helpless. He couldn't do a thing for himself from the bed and it took three people to get him into a chair. Would it always be like this? If it were to be that way, he didn't think he could stand the humiliation of being lifted everywhere. He knew he didn't have a choice, but most of his body was dead weight now and he hated that fact.

"Oof," Matthew said as he plopped down, the wind slightly knocked out of him. He hadn't exactly been prepared for the amount of effort it took to get into the chair, even though he barely did anything.

"Are you all right?" Sybil asked quickly.

"Yes, just banged my elbow on the armrest," Matthew answered, not wanting to let her know how much the slight movement had exhausted him, even though he hadn't done anything other than letting himself get lifted. "I couldn't feel any other part of me that landed hard."

"I'm thankful that you still have your sense of sarcasm," Mary said with a soft smile. It was nice to have a little bit of the old Matthew back. He also looked a little more like himself now that he was no longer in the bed propped up by countless pillows, though there still was one behind him in the wheelchair. The fact that his back was strong enough to allow him to sit up with little support was very good indeed. Of course, he was still leaning rather heavily on the backrest of the wheelchair, but someday he wouldn't have to completely rely on that for back support.

"It feels so strange to be out of that bed," Matthew said softly. "It's so frightening and reliving at the same time." If only he was sitting in an actual chair and not this blasted wheelchair. On the other hand, he knew that he would someday see this wheelchair as a means of freedom, but for now, it was still a prison, a reminder of the man he no longer was. He was thankful to be out of the bed, but he still felt extremely confined. Oh, how he hoped that that feeling would go away. He knew he was stuck like this for the rest of his life, but a small, independent part of him hoped that it wasn't true. He wondered why, and for neither the first nor the last time, he tried to quench the hope.

"Now, remember, you're not supposed to spend more than an hour or two in the chair for the first few days," Sybil reminded him as she tucked a blanket around his legs. Why he needed a blanket was beyond him. He couldn't feel down there, so therefore his legs couldn't get cold. He didn't dare to question Sybil at the moment though. Perhaps he could ask her later, but she'd probably have some strange explanation or other that wouldn't make sense to him.

"Yes, Nurse Crawley," Matthew responded with a slight smile. At least he was getting the chance to call her that directly.

Sybil let out a light laugh, one that neither Matthew nor Mary had heard for quite some time. "Take it easy," she said as she gently touched his shoulder, "after all, we want you to come home as soon as possible."

Matthew nodded and watched his cousin head to another part of the hospital where she was needed. "I never thought I'd see the day one of your sister's doing hard manual labour," he murmured softly.

"You should have seen Mama and Papa's faces when she told them," Mary said with a laugh. "You would have thought she had said she was going to marry the chauffeur."

"Well, that's I one thing I cannot imagine Sybil doing," mused Matthew, "but it must've been quite the surprise to get that type of reaction out of them."

"Rest assured, it was," Mary stated. "Now, let's get you to another room so you can see a different view."

"There won't be much difference in the other rooms," Matthew stated matter-of-factly. "It's a hospital."

"True, but perhaps we can find a window you can look out of," admitted Mary. "I'd take you outside, but Doctor Clarkson has forbidden it. He says you need to get stronger before you can leave the building."

"I practically lived outside for the last four years," Matthew mumbled in a low voice. "I can't get used to being indoors. And, no thank you, I don't want to move until I'm a little more used to sitting in this basted wheelchair."

"The faster you get better, the faster you can be outdoors," Mary replied gently, ignoring his choice of language.

Matthew slowly nodded. He needed to give Mary some type of response, even though he highly doubted he'd eve be 'better', at least, in his sense of the word. "Better," he muttered. "What is 'better'? I'm never going to fully heal."

"You just need to get your strength back," Mary answered calmly. "As much as you possibly can."

"What I would give for simply being able to do something on my own," sighed Matthew. "I can't roll over, sit up, or even move more than my arms and head without help. Every single thing I do, every single thing I will do in life, will involve help from someone in some way, shape, or form."

"Now, Matthew, you don't know that yet," scolded Isobel. "You will regain some of your independence. I dare say that you will be able to roll over, get yourself into a seated position, and perhaps even move from your bed to your wheelchair or back on your own, or with very limited assistance someday."

"Someday," Matthew muttered impatiently. "Someday. Ha, never."

"Matthew," Isobel said firmly. "Don't talk like that."

"Mother, believe it," Matthew retorted. "I'm practically helpless and always will be." He couldn't even do the simplest tasks for himself and he doubted that he ever would be able to do them, no matter what his mother said. He knew he'd never be able to be independent again, so why should he even try to do things if he would never be able to do everything that constituted a life.

"How many times have we told you to stop calling yourself helpless?" wondered Mary. "You're not. You just need to find the abilities that you still have. You've got a brain, so use it." She knew she had told him this multiple times over the past two weeks, but Matthew still hadn't accepted the idea. She wondered how much longer it would take him.

"Mary's right you know," Isobel pointed out. "Your injury hasn't taken away your ability to think. Now, I suggest you figure out some way to use that ability."

He could still think. Mary had told him that before, but he still didn't know if he quite believed her. It was true he could think, but would anyone accept the thoughts of a cripple? He might only be crippled in the physical form, but so many people treated everyone with a disability, physical or otherwise, as if they were two. Did he want to do something with his brains if he would be treated like that? He was brought out of his thoughts by Mary's voice.

"Matthew," she said gently.

"What?" Matthew asked quickly as he shook of his thoughts.

"If I recall correctly, you were a lawyer before coming to Downton," Mary began, hoping that Matthew would pick up on where she was going. If she was right, this would at least get him willing to think about his future in a different light than he currently was using.

"True," Matthew said, wondering where his cousin was going with this conversation.

"Well, that profession seems to require mainly brains," finished Mary. _Come on, Matthew_, she begged inwardly. _Figure this out_.

Matthew stared at her in confusion for a full five seconds, before realization dawned on him. "You mean, I should go back to that?" he asked tentatively.

"Only if you want to," added Mary. "Of course, it wouldn't be for some time yet as you need to get out of the hospital and recover a bit more at Downton, but you surely could do that."

"But what would Robert say?" Matthew asked awkwardly. He knew that his cousin had disapproved of him working at the firm when he first arrived, but it was a way of life that he couldn't stop. Now though, he hadn't been involved in law for the past four years due to serving in France. Also, he couldn't just up and leave Downton, even though he knew he shouldn't be the next heir. However, the idea appealed to him greatly. Only a few minutes ago he had thought he was one hundred percent helpless and would always be that way, but if what Mary said was true, perhaps there was some extremely small way he could be in control.

"Never you mind," Isobel said firmly. "When the time comes, we can deal with him. I do know that he won't prevent you from doing something that you both enjoy and are able to do. If going back to your old profession for a time would suit you, I'm certain Robert would make it happen."

"Thanks," Matthew said softly. His back was starting to ache and he knew it was time he lay down again. A quick glance around the room told him that the only people available to help were his mother and Mary. He sighed, wishing he didn't have to impose this request on them. Why did everything physical have to involve embarrassment on his part? "Uh, can … can you help me back into bed?" he asked rather awkwardly, wishing that Doctor Clarkson was available to help.

"Certainly," the both of them answered. Mary carefully adjusted his chair so it was nearer the bed.

"Are you ready?" she asked quietly.

"I guess," Matthew admitted, but the truth was, he never was ready for these things and he probably never would be. Physically he was ready to be moved, but mentally, he wasn't prepared.

Mary braced herself as she wrapped her arms around Matthew's chest while Isobel took her son's legs. Together, along with a bit of puffing, they managed to successfully transfer Matthew out of the wheelchair and back into the bed.

Mary carefully avoided looking Matthew directly in the eye during this transfer because she knew she would see embarrassment and she had a feeling there would be pity in her glance and she didn't want him to see that.

Once he was settled and in a half-reclined position, Matthew asked, "Mary?"

"Yes, Matthew?"

"Did you honestly believe that I could still be a lawyer?" He still couldn't believe she had said such a thing. It hadn't even crossed his mind. He had been so certain that there wouldn't be anything available for him to do and he'd spend the rest of his life living off of the help of others. Now though, if there was even the slightest chance of him handling some job, he knew he had to try to do it.

"Of course," Mary said, astonished that Matthew could ask such a thing of her, but then, she hadn't always been the most trusted person. "I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't believed it."

"Thank you," Matthew said, "I really mean it. If there's something out there that I can live for, something that I know I can do well, I know I'll try to strive for it. Perhaps Sybil was right after all."

"Right about what?" wondered Mary.

"Th-that n-night," Matthew stuttered as he remembered the horrible night in which his world turned upside down, "she told me that what truly matters about a person is in the heart, not the body."

"And she's right," Isobel said gently. "Matthew, you may think you're a completely different person, and in some ways that is true. But to me, you're still my son and you always will be. That part hasn't change. The true you, the you that is inside your body, is still my son, Matthew Crawley. No matter what physical changes occur, you're still the same you on the inside. You're still the same person, but just a bit different."

Matthew smiled halfheartedly at his mother's statement. He wanted to believe her, but didn't know if he could. Part of what she said was true, but he knew he had changed on the inside as well as the outside. His heart and soul were still there, but now they made a different man; a man who had grown old before his time. "Mother, I'm not the boy that went off to war," Matthew began, but Isobel cut him off.

"I know," she said gently. "I know there are changes to who you are on both the outside and on the inside."

"Then why did you say I'm still the same me when you know I'm not?" asked Matthew a bit impatiently.

Isobel sighed before answering, "Because Matthew, the fact that you're my son overrides any changes that may have occurred. Like it or not, you're stuck with me as your mother."

His mother's last statement managed to get a chuckle out of Matthew. "Sometimes …," he began, then paused.

"Sometimes what?" prompted Mary, who was interested as to what direction this conversation was going in.

"Sometimes I wonder what it is all for," Matthew began, then before he knew it, a flurry of words was escaping from his mouth. "This whole blasted war started over the assassination of the Austro-Hungarian throne. Yes, that was anything but minor, but why did such a small event cause the greatest war in the history of mankind? What is the purpose of this blasted war? I thought it was to provide a better future for the next generation, but now I honestly don't know."

"Some things aren't meant to be known," Mary said simply, "at least not until their appointed time."

"I would like to know what the purpose of all of our sacrifices was," continued Matthew. "Why all of the deaths, the injuries, the forever changed men? Did they have a purpose?"

"I can say there is a purpose," Isobel stated, "but I'm afraid that no one yet knows what the purpose is and no one might know for quite a long time."


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the length of time between updates, but I had a lot of work to do on this chapter, plus a ton of homework. Sometimes I wonder if I'm insane for doing the honour's programme, which involves an average 300 pages of reading per week.**

**Also, I've pushed up some of the events in the show because there is a lot that I need to do that's original that takes place between 2.5 (which happens in August) and 2.6 (which happens in November). I needed to have a few scenes from 2.6 here in order for future chapters to make sense. Sorry if this causes any confusion.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or the dialogue that is taken directly from the show.  
**

Three weeks later, Matthew was pronounced strong enough to go to Downton. He knew that it was a convalescent home for officers, but it was more than that to him. In his time at the hospital and with all of his conversations with Mary, he had realized just how important Downton was to him. Yes, he might not become the earl (if they could find another relation, that would probably be best), but it was still a place where he had found happiness. He wondered if he'd ever be happy again, but he knew that if he were to find happiness again, it would be at Downton. After all, according to Aristotle, happiness was found in the end that people sought, or at least it was something along those lines. He couldn't remember exactly what the philosopher had written, but that seemed to be the essence of it.

One afternoon in his first week back at Downton, he and Mary were out for a walk. Well, Mary was walking; he was being pushed and he hated that fact. He had always been one to stand tall and erect, hardly every slouching, but now he was stuck in this vile wheelchair. He was grateful that he was here and alive, but he wished he weren't stuck in the wheelchair. On his first night back at Downton, it had suddenly hit him how great William's sacrifice had been. The young lad had saved his life. Matthew didn't remember how, but he had been told that when they had been found, William had been on top of him, shielding him from the blast. Was he grateful to the young footman for saving his life or was he envious? William was gone. He was in a peaceful place now, a place without suffering and pain. And here he was, alive, but only half a man. Here were all these men, suffering in ways that no one would be able to understand and this suffering would never end. Yes, they would all heal to a certain degree, but for many of them, they would live with the handicap that came with their injury for the rest of their lives. As much as Matthew hated the wheelchair, his paralysis, and the helplessness it left him with, he knew he had to get used to it because that was his life now, but he also knew that he'd never fully get used to life like this.

That afternoon, he had tried to reason with Mary that he was strong enough to wheel himself, but he had lost the argument. Of course, one was almost always guaranteed to loose an argument with Mary Crawley. He knew he should have known that from all his previous arguments with her, but he still had tried. He might not be able to move from bed to chair yet on his own (would he ever?), or even dress aside from his shirt for that matter, but he needed to find some part of his daily life that he could do independently, even if it was just something small. Surely he was strong enough to wheel himself a short distance. After all, he needed to get used to it.

Matthew thought back to when he first arrived at Downton and how he had refused to allow Mosley to dress him. It was ironic now as he now needed help with every little thing, though he desperately hoped he'd be able to regain enough independence that he would be able to do some self-sufficient tasks.

Mary began to talk about the house that Sir Richard was planning on buying and she seemed to be complaining about how big it was. She could tell that Matthew was starting to enter one of his self-pitying moods and she knew that she needed to get him out of it.

"Can we stop?" he asked suddenly. "I'd much rather see your face when we're talking." He hated having a conversation with someone who was behind him. It just felt wrong. Mary obliged and pulled up near a bench. She parked his chair and went around to sit. "So will he buy it?" he asked, not knowing if he was hoping a negative or a positive answer.

"Probably," Mary admitted. "He says he wants to steal Carson to come and run it for us."

Matthew laughed at the very idea of Carson leaving Downton Abbey. That was as unlikely as him ever feeling anything below his waist again, which meant it was impossible. "I don't envy you telling your Papa," he said.

"Suppose Carson won't do it," suggested Mary.

"I don't think there's anything he wouldn't do for you," Matthew pointed out. He knew that Carson and Mary had a very special relationship that was probably nearly as close to friendship as was possible for a butler and an earl's daughter.

"I don't have to marry him, you know," Mary said softly. She hoped ever so slightly that Matthew might get the hidden message in her words. She didn't have to marry Sir Richard if she and Matthew could get back together.

"Yes, you do," insisted Matthew, though he was wondering exactly why he was saying that as he had a very negative view of the man Mary was engaged to. "If I thought for a moment that I was in argument against your marriage I would jump into the nearest river." Once the words were out of his mouth, Matthew wondered why he had said them. Of course, he didn't really like Sir Richard, but then, he didn't know the man yet, beyond a bad first impression. And secondly, how would he jump into a river when he couldn't stand, let alone not being allowed to wheel himself anywhere?

Mary seemed to be thinking on the same lines because she said rather dryly, "And how would you managed that without my help?"

"You could push me in," joked Matthew, but his heart wasn't in it. There were so many things mentioned on a daily basis that involved mobility, mobility he didn't have and never would have, and he'd never get used to discussing them without some type of forlornness. But he quickly found his composure and continued. "The only reason I can relax is that I know you have a real life coming," he said. "I've nothing to give or share. If you were not engaged to be married, I wouldn't let you anywhere near me." _But, I still want you, Mary_, he added silently.

"You don't mean that," Mary said quietly, though she knew that he probably did.

"I do mean it," Matthew stated as firmly as he could. "Look at me! I don't have a way of supporting a wife, I can't be a lover, and I can't father children!"

"Those things don't matter," Mary stated as firmly as she could. "Not as much as you think they do. The estate is strong enough to support a family and Lavinia told me that the things you can't do don't matter to her. She wants to be with you on any terms." _And so do I,_ she added quietly to herself. She sighed, if only she had accepted Matthew's proposal all those years ago. They'd be married, and perhaps even with one or two children of their own. And that would mean that they wouldn't be having this conversation.

"Mary," Matthew said, then stopped. He didn't want to have this argument. He hadn't wanted to have it with Lavinia and he certainly didn't want to have it with Mary.

"Yes, Matthew?" prompted Mary.

"It's nothing," he quickly said looking down at his lap. He dug his fingers into his knee, hoping to feel some sort of sensation, but it was not to be. He knew that he couldn't hope, yet at the same time, he still did. "Can we go inside?" he asked. "It seems to get be getting a bit chilly."

"Certainly," Mary answered.

That night after dinner, they had a family gathering in the sitting room. Once Lord Grantham had said that he didn't want to be overheard, Granny quickly asked whether this conversation had anything to do with finical ruin or criminal investigation, to which Lord Grantham, replied, "Neither."

"What then?" asked Sybil.

"We have a patient, who has been badly burned, who's name is Patrick Gordon, but he claims to be Patrick Crawley."

Immediately, everyone looked around the room with stunned expressions on their faces. Matthew bent his head down and massaged his temples. This couldn't be happening. Everything that he valued in life was slowly being taken away: Mary, his legs, Lavinia, now Downton. At least he still had Mother. Well, maybe that was his wish come true, another relative. But now that it was true, he regretted that wish. He needed to hold on to the little security he still had.

"But didn't he drown on the Titanic?" asked Isobel in confusion.

"That's what we were told," Lord Grantham explained, "but this Gordon claims to have been picked up by a lifeboat and accidentally sent to Canada. The reason he didn't come back here straight away was that he claims to have suffered from amnesia."

"But how can this be?" asked Mary hurriedly.

"They never found his body," Edith said, her face showing a slight hope that Patrick may have survived.

"They never found lots of bodies," Mary retorted. She couldn't believe this to be true. Not for her sake, but for Matthew's. He had already lost more than most men twice his age had. He couldn't loose his inheritance as well.

"Not to be rude, but who is Patrick Crawley?" asked Sir Richard.

Matthew finally looked up from his lap. "The man who would displace me as heir," he stated. "If he is still alive, I'm no longer the future Earl of Grantham.

"That's impossible," said a flustered Mary. "How can it be true?"

"He said he had amnesia," restated Edith.

"How do we know he's not an imposter?" wondered Sybil.

"He knows all sorts of things that only Patrick or a close friend of his would know," Ethel defended.

"There has to be some way," Cora said at last. "Does he look like Patrick?"

"You can't tell," Mary said. "The burns are so bad, that at moments, it almost doesn't look like anything."

"I've sent his report up to a Murray to look at," Lord Grantham said. "We'll just have to wait and see what he says."

"What's the matter?" Edith suddenly cried out. "We were all found of him. Mary, you were going to marry him!"

Sir Richard looked curiously at Mary and said, "Should I be worried?"

"No," Mary stated firmly. "This man is a fake and an imposter. He will be found out. It's a cruel trick to play when Matthew's been through so much." _Not to mention I didn't love him,_ she silently added. _And I don't love you either_.

"My dear, don't be too quick to decide," said Matthew calmly, almost too calmly. "This might be a blessing in disguise."

"What do you mean?" asked Isobel in shock.

"He might not be much to look at, but he can walk around the estate and sire a string of son's to carry on the line," Matthew said as he struggled to stay calm. If this Patrick fellow had shown up a few months ago when he still had the use of his legs, he knew that he wouldn't have given Downton up without a fight, not without absolute proof at any rate, but now he almost didn't care. He didn't know what he should be thinking. In some ways, he was relieved that there might be a different heir, but in other ways, he still wanted to know that he had the security of Downton. "Sybil, could you please take me back to my room?" Oh, how humbling it was to have to ask someone, a female relative younger than him no less, to take him places.

Mary watched Matthew and Sybil leave. Gradually the others in the room began to disperse as well. She looked down at her lap and let out a sigh. Why did everything have to seem like it was happening at once? It had only been about a month and a half since Matthew had been injured, but it seemed like a lifetime. How could so much happen in so little time? And what was going to happen now? She desperately hoped that whoever this Patrick Gordon was, he would be found to be an imposter and gotten rid of. She knew that Matthew needed some stability and she knew that she needed the stability Matthew's presence offered.

With another sigh, she got up and hurried to her room to be alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N This chapter takes place at the end of October/beginning of November. Sorry for the long wait. I'm going to try to get chapters out faster as I have the next couple written, but between revising them and my regular school work, it's hard to know when one will be updated.  
_**

The next month was spent trying to regain some form of normalcy, though it seemed as if that would be impossible due to all of the changes.

Matthew was still trying to figure out exactly where he belonged. Yes, he was family, but he also was a wounded soldier. He did his best to only stay in the main areas for the convalescence home as he wasn't comfortable with letting everyone know that he was supposed to be the next earl, if this Patrick fellow wasn't who he said he was. Matthew was conflicted in his feelings with regards to Major Gordon. If Gordon was the true heir, then Downton was rightfully his, but if he wasn't, Matthew was determined to come to the bottom of it. He briefly considered sending a note to his friends at the firm, but decided against it. After all, Robert had sent everything to Murray who was more than capable.

One day when he was in a corner of the library with a book, Robert, who had been in the area partitioned off for the family, opened the curtain and asked for him to enter. Matthew looked up in surprise, but a quick glance around showed him that no one had noticed. He manoeuvred his wheelchair into position and slowly rolled into the small, private area, hoping that none of the other soldiers had seen him. He was also grateful that he was finally strong enough to wheel himself for the most part. It meant that in some small way he was starting to gain a sort of independence.

"Is there something you need?" he asked once the curtain had been closed again.

Robert sat down in his chair across from where Matthew had stopped. "I do have a question for you," he said.

"What?" Matthew inquired, wondering what was so important that Robert felt it needed to be asked privately.

"Now, I don't want to try to get your hopes up, but Clarkson is a country doctor, though he is a very good one," Robert stated. "I was wondering what you would think of getting a professional from London to have a look at you."

Matthew eyed Robert sceptically. "Why?"

"Matthew, we don't have to do it if you don't want to, but just in case there is some other explanation …"

"Robert," Matthew interrupted. "I appreciate your concern, but my back is broken. I know what a broken back means. A second opinion wouldn't change anything. It _can't_ change anything." Matthew pounded his hand into his knee for emphasis, though he winced slightly at the pain it caused his hand.

"Matthew, in cases like these, it's always best to get a second opinion, no matter how fruitless it might seem," Robert continued. "Who knows, there could be something we can do to help you."

Matthew looked down at his lap. There was some truth in Robert's statement about how second opinions could be helpful. He remembered that his father always valued a second opinion and always tried to get one. Well, it couldn't hurt to get one as he already knew what the outcome would be. There really only was a single possible outcome. "Very well, I'll do it," he said at last with a long sigh, "but I highly doubt it will change anything."

"Thank you. I'll contact John Cotes," Robert replied. He got up and placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. "You have been a brave man through all of this."

"It wasn't me," Matthew said quickly as he looked up at Robert. "If it hadn't been for Mary …" His voice trailed off as he didn't know what he should or could say. Yes, Sybil had been a big encouragement as well, Mary was the one who had spent hours by his bedside reading, talking, or just sitting with him.

"I'm glad she was there for you," Robert finished quietly. "And don't forget, the rest of us are here for you as well. I want you to know, that no matter what happens with this whole Patrick incident, that we're here for you. You're still family."

Matthew nodded in understanding and relief. "There's something that I want to ask of you," he began, then stopped. How should he word this?

"Yes?" prompted Robert, who stepped back and sat down again. Matthew was grateful for that as it meant he was no longer looking up to see Robert's face. It was so awkward to have to look up or talk to someone who was behind him. He much preferred it if whoever he was talking to was sitting down across or next to him. He found it easier to talk to someone if they were at about eye level with one another.

Matthew took a deep breath, as he remembered Robert's startled reaction back in 1912 when he announced his intentions, then continued. "As you know, I used to work as a lawyer. Well, until the time comes for me to become Earl of Grantham, if it ever does, I'd like to go back to doing that." There he had said it and hopefully Robert would understand his reasons. This time it wasn't simply because it was his profession, but because it was a profession he was certain he could still do.

"Is that because that profession is something that you currently are able to do?" inquired Robert after a few seconds of silence.

"Yes," Matthew answered, relieved that this conversation was going differently than the one six years previously. "While I was in the hospital, Mary reminded me time and time again that I still had brains. Going back to being a lawyer hadn't even crossed my mind until she reminded me that that was a job with mainly brains." Matthew still wondered why Mary had encouraged him to speak to Robert about this. After all, she had been rather put off by the idea of being related to a middle-class lawyer and now she wanted him to go back to that profession.

"Do you think you can get back into it?" wondered Robert. "It's been nearly four years since you left the firm for the army."

"I know," Matthew admitted, "but I do hope that I can. I still have some friends on the firm that I could contact. There might be an opening at _Harvell and Carter_ in Ripon, which would allow me to stay here. I'd have to get someone to drive me there, but that should work." He had forgotten that even if he managed to get a job, he still would need help in getting to it. No matter which way he turned in life, there would always be something hampering it from now on. However, he was determined not to give up. In all honesty, he genuinely hadn't wanted to live when Doctor Clarkson had pronounced his sentence, but Mary, Sybil, and his mother had helped him to see otherwise. Even though he still was depressed and in mourning over his legs, he was determined to figure out how to live and adapt and trying to get a job would be one way.

"If you feel as if doing something like that will help you, you're more than welcome to do so," Robert stated. "And I'm certain that Branson would gladly drive you into Ripon as often as you need."

"Thank you," replied a relieved Matthew. He knew that the war had changed everyone and was relieved that Robert no longer thought down on people who actually worked a job. Granted, Sybil probably played a large role in that change. "I wasn't certain what you'd think. I'm not running away from Downton, but I need to do something that I know I can do."

"I hope you can work this out and I can always put in a good word with whatever firm you want to work for."

"I want to try to get in on my own work if possible," Matthew stated firmly. "I don't know how accepting they'll be though because of … because of this." He gestured towards his wheelchair as his voice trailed off. He still couldn't bring himself to say the exact words out loud and wondered if he ever would be able to. "I hope my old friends can look past it and still see me," he finally finished.

"If they're true friends, they will," Robert said firmly. "I know you've been told this multiple times, but you're still Matthew Crawley. Nothing can change that."

"Mother told me that when I was still in the hospital," sighed Matthew, "and I know she's right, but I just struggle to believe it sometimes. I-I feel like I've changed too much to still be me."

Once again, Robert reached forward, this time grasping Matthew's hand. "You may have changed, but you're still our Matthew."

"Thank you," Matthew said again. "I really mean it."

Robert smiled gently. "When are you going to contact _Harvell and Carter_?" he inquired.

Matthew furrowed his brow. He hadn't yet thought of that. "Probably not 'till after the New Year," he said quietly. "I won't be in any fit state to work, even at a desk, for quite some time yet."

"You'll get there," Robert assured as he stood up. Matthew nodded in response and slowly began to wheel himself out and soon settled himself back in his corner with his book.

"What was that about?" wondered Edward Blair, a fellow officer and childhood friend, who had been in the same regiment as Matthew.

"Just trying to figure things out," sighed Matthew. Edward was one of the few who knew just how he was related to the Downton Crawleys, mainly because Matthew knew Edward would keep his secret. "Robert wants me to get a second opinion about my back and I told him I would."

"Well, it can't hurt," Edward replied. "And you should be thankful you have the opportunity to get a second opinion. I know I would have tried to get one if it would have changed anything."

"But your situation was life or death," Matthew replied quietly, remembering the shell blast that had nearly killed his friend which happened mere days before his own injury. "The amputation was the only way to keep the infection from spreading to rest of your body."

"And you're right," Edward finished, as he looked down at the empty space where his right leg should have been. "I know for the both of us, what really matters is that we survived the war, mostly in one piece, and at least both of us have the ability to get some sort of job in the future."

Matthew slowly nodded. "I just wish these fours years hadn't had to happen. Ultimately, there is bound to be some purpose, but right now, nothing is making sense. I just hope that the end is soon. Lord Kitchener was right when he declared the war would last at least three years."

"Everyone is saying that the end is bound to be near," Edward replied. "The Germans are retreating."

"I just hope their right this time and it isn't yet another false hope," sighed Matthew. There had been too many false hopes during the war and they had been there right form the beginning. Deep down Matthew believed the rumours that there was talk of peace, but he wouldn't believe it until it was announced from the War Office.

* * *

Thankfully, the rumours that the war was soon to be over were found to be true as a few days later, Mary was sitting in the small library when an excited Matthew wheeled himself through the doorway. "Matthew!" Mary cried. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself like that." She expected some sort of retort, but Matthew didn't give one. "Is everything all right?" she continued. "Did something happen?"

"Yes, everything is fine," said Matthew breathlessly, "and yes, something wonderful happened."

"What?" asked Mary slowly.

"The war, it's over!"

Mary stared at him in astonishment for several moments. "Truly?" she asked.

Several other recovering soldiers had been in the near vicinity and had heard Matthew. Quickly those who could hurried over as fast as were able and entered the small library, even though that area generally was reserved for family.

"Is it really over?" one of them asked.

"Yes, Charlie, it is," Matthew replied as the first genuine smile in years decorated his face. The past four years had been filled with so much pain and terror, but at last, they were about to be over. The world would be forever different because of the war, but at last, repair could finally start to happen.

He continued, "Well, it isn't legally over, not till the eleventh, but the point is, they're going to sign the Armistice. We won. The sacrifices weren't for naught." His eyes glazed over slightly as he thought about everyone who had died or had been injured in the war. Yes, the Allied forces had won, but the sacrifice had been great, too great.

"Oh, Matthew, that's such wonderful news," cried an elated Mary. She desperately wanted to jump up and hug him, but restrained herself from doing so as she knew that action would be considered improper. "Does Papa know?"

Matthew nodded. "He's the one who told me and he's planning on giving a formal announcement of it after dinner, though by that time most everyone will have heard." He smiled ever so slightly as he remembered his reaction when Robert had told him the war was over. If he hadn't already been in his chair, he knew that he would have collapsed in surprise. At any rate, he had been completely shocked and completely relieved at the same time. He still wasn't entirely certain if he could believe Robert, but he had seen the telegram and knew it was true.

Mary sank down into her chair, full of complete relief. Thank God the war was nearly over. There was a definite end date in sight, though why it couldn't be over right this instant was beyond her. It had probably had something to do with formalities. It had been four long years since the war had started. So many friends had died on the front or had been injured. Was it wrong that she was so relieved that Matthew had returned alive when so many others hadn't?

Matthew slowly rolled closer to Mary. "Mary, is everything all right?" he asked gently as he placed a hand on her knee.

"Oh, Matthew," Mary sighed as she gently placed her hand on top of his, "everything's fine. The war is over, but …" Mary gently fingered his hand as she felt the every so slightly raised scaring that the shrapnel had left. Everyone, even those who had survived the war without any major permanent injuries, had scars.

Matthew nodded, knowing what Mary was thinking and also knowing that there wasn't a need for words at the moment. He doubted that there ever would be a need for words as nothing could ever accurately describe the horrors of the past few years.

"Sometimes I wonder what the point of it all was," he said with a sigh. "All the hurt, all the destruction, all the lives lost or forever changed. Why did it happen?" He paused for a moment, but continued before Mary could speak up. "I know that you're simply going to repeat what you and Mother told me in the hospital: that there is a purpose, but it isn't know yet. I do know that, but I struggle to understand it. … Why was I allowed to survive? And why did it have to be this way?" He was constantly asking himself these questions. Yes, he was grateful to be alive, but what was life when it was reduced to life forever in a wheelchair?

"I don't know," Mary answered simply. "I wish that it didn't have to be the way it is, but I am ever so thankful that you survived and so is the rest of the family." She gave a slight inward shudder at the thought of Matthew not being there. She may never be able to be his wife, her actions and Matthew's determination to not wed had taken care of that, but he was here and wouldn't be going anywhere dangerous ever again.

Matthew looked concernedly at her, but didn't say anything. Gradually the few soldiers who had entered the room left to go spread the news amongst the others in the house, leaving him alone with Mary. Once they were alone, Matthew rolled as close to the sofa as was possible. He desperately wished that he could sit on the sofa like a normal person, but that was not to be. "Mary," he began, then stopped as he wasn't entirely certain how to word what he was about to say. "I just want to tell you that if it hadn't been for you and Sybil during those first dreadful days in the hospital … well, I highly doubt that I would be here today." He had only seriously contemplated taking that drastic action once, but the thought had briefly crossed his mind multiple times. He had a feeling that he never would have acted on it, but still, that thought was that thought.

"Oh, Matthew!" Mary gasped in horror. "I…I…" She was at a loss for words and couldn't figure out what she should say.

"D-Don't say anything," Matthew stammered, "especially to your father. H-He doesn't need to know that."

"I won't. I promise," Mary replied gently. As she rose to her feet she said, "Matthew, just remember, you might be paralysed, but that doesn't change you who are deep down."

As he watched her go into another room, Matthew knew that she was correct, though he didn't yet believe it. He hadn't understood that there was a difference between knowing and believing until his injury. Yes, he knew that inside he still was himself, his mother, Sybil, and Mary had all made sure of that, yet at the same time he still was struggling to believe that and had a feeling that he would carry that struggle for the rest of his life. For know though, there was the hope of the war's end within the week and he had Doctor John Cotes visit to look forward to.

**_For those of you who are history buffs (like me :D), Lord Kitchener was a British Field Marshal and became Secretary of State for War during WWI. He appeared on multiple war posters during this time telling Britons that their country needed them. He also is known for accurately predicting that the war would last for several years, despite the original belief that the war would only last a few months._**


End file.
